


Ameliorate

by pastelsandpining



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt and comfort, Post Game, Post-Calamity, Slow Burn, botw zelink - Freeform, eventually, zelink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelsandpining/pseuds/pastelsandpining
Summary: Ameliorate: to make something bad or unsatisfactory better.Zelda read that word once somewhere. She found it quite fitting for her situation: trying to pick up the crumbling pieces of her kingdom without letting herself spiral too much in the process.Link wanted more than anything to stay by her side. He hoped they could help each other, but if Zelda wouldn't even let herself grieve, then what was he to do?
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my post-BotW story! It's going to follow Zelda and Link as they work to rebuild Hyrule and their former relationship, and probably won't include anything from BotW 2. I'm not sure. I don't really have a plan for this, I'm just going in. Updates may be slow because I'm working on two other stories on top of schoolwork, so please be patient with me!

When the pure, divine light, brighter than the sun itself, shrunk into nothing, taking every last piece of malice and Calamity Ganon with it, he knew it was over. A nightmare from an age long past, confronted and defeated too many years later. Despite the victory, his heart was still racing, and it wasn’t from the adrenaline. Every last inch of his body _screamed_ for him to run to her. 

And he couldn’t bring himself to move. 

Perhaps it was because her back was to him, or maybe he feared she would not be corporeal and his touch would go straight through her. But there was no blue glow to her form like the Champions carried. 

“I’ve been keeping watch over you all this time.” Her voice was soft, quiet as if she were somehow upset, and Link took a slight step closer, his hand briefly reaching for her before he forced it back to his side. “I’ve witnessed your struggles to return to us as well as your trials in battle. I always thought—.. no, I always  _ believed _ that you would find a way to defeat Ganon.”

She turned to face him and her eyes were striking—green like the lush flora of Faron, sparkling like a gem in the light, and filled to the brim with fondness directed towards him. The glow of the sealing power had long since faded, but she was still  _ golden _ .

“I never lost faith in you over these many years,” she said, bringing her hands to her chest like he’d seen her do time and time again. “Thank you, Link, the Hero of Hyrule.”

The title, heavy as it was, felt far different coming from her honey voice. He wished he could find his own.

“May I ask..” He wanted to say that she could ask anything, and he would answer all she could think of even if he had to traverse through all of Hyrule to do so. “Do you really remember me?”

She looked so very hopeful. Link didn’t quite know how to reply—how to tell her that he remembered walking three paces behind her, remembered shielding her from danger, remembered how gentle her fingers were when they brushed through his hair, remembered the frog fiasco, remembered nearly dying in her arms. He feared his voice would fail him again, but he forced his mouth open and whispered out a reply,

“I do.”

The corners of her lips tilted upwards in a small smile, one warm enough to draw him closer. He took a small, cautious step forwards and when she held her arms out to him, the Master Sword fell to the ground with a muffled thump. He circled his arms around her as gently as he could manage, afraid he’d break her if he handled her too roughly. She was stronger than that, he knew, but Zelda was precious. If she disappeared too, he didn’t know what he would do.

But her grip on him was tight, as if she were afraid of the same thing, and he could do so little to console her. She was trembling against him and his hands were shaking, but he hesitantly brought one to the back of her head, burying his fingers in the tangles of golden hair. 

“Thank you,” she whispered out and he wasn’t sure what for. 

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, from thanking her for all of her help to telling her how he listened to her voice for comfort and guidance. He wanted to tell her how her light piercing the darkness of Hyrule Castle kept him moving forwards instead of crumbling to nothing when the grief and the guilt became too much. Instead, he held her tighter and closed his eyes, because it was easier than trying to sort out the many emotions that came with seeing her at long last.

He felt it was too soon when she loosened her grip, but he said nothing and let her step back. He didn’t understand how someone could look so radiant and tired at the same time. He wanted to ask what they should do now. They could do anything, go anywhere they wanted, but where did they start? Would she even want that?

“You’ve come so far,” she marveled, and it served as a reminder that she knew him longer than he’d known her. “I’m so proud of you.”

He couldn’t describe how she made him feel. He didn’t think he’d heard that before, not in the life he’d lived the past year. He had no words he could give her, and he didn’t think his voice would work to speak them even if he did. Instead, he retrieved the Master Sword from where it laid in the grass and fell into a kneel before her. 

Zelda was royalty to a kingdom that had fallen a century before, but she remained a goddess-blood princess nonetheless. And for all of Hyrule’s beauty and strength, none could be more powerful than her. 

Yet her hands were gentle when she knelt to join him, holding his shoulders so that he would lift his head to meet her eyes. They were soft as the grass they stood on--he didn’t know if he’d ever get used to them, and they faintly reminded him of Urbosa’s. Kind, with a storm of regal authority simmering beneath them.

“Link,” and his name had never sounded so  _ right _ , “there’s no need to be so formal.”

“Princess,” he replied, and he couldn’t read the expression that crossed her face. “I-“

“Please,” she cut him off, dropping her hands to cover his, instead of his shoulders. Her fingertips felt like ice. For a moment, he worried her touch was not real. “Don’t be a knight. Just be Link.”

If she could not be Zelda, then he wasn’t quite sure how he could simply be Link. He didn’t know what it meant to be either of them, because he didn’t think he could be a person he hardly remembered. All he’d ever been told was that he was the knight by her side, and the hero destined to defeat the Calamity. Now that he’d done just that, who was he supposed to be? How did he just be Link?

“I don’t know how,” he spoke, not that he’d meant to. But something about her eyes made him want to pour his heart to her, because maybe she was the only person who could truly understand how it felt. Or maybe she couldn’t. 

Her fingers barely brushed his cheek before she dropped her hands, leaving his skin burning underneath the steadily darkening sky. 

“We should take shelter,” she said softly, rising to her feet. “Even with the Calamity gone, the night is brutal.” She turned towards the castle, and Link felt a frown tug at his lips. “I suppose the damage is extensive, but it’s the best protection we’ll have.”

“A lot of it has been blocked off,” he replied as he stood to join her. 

But Zelda had started forwards anyway, climbing up the winding paths of the outer structure with all the stubbornness of a century ago, and he almost cracked a smile as he followed her. 

The path was littered with the remains of guardians. The Skywatchers seemed to have crashed and splintered apart on the ground after the Calamity’s influence was released, but even if they remained still and dull, Link felt an incredible sense of unease. No matter how many times he’d perfected his parry, or how many guardians he’d faced, he could never bury the wave of fear that bubbled with every sighting. 

Something tugged at his heart when he remembered the love Zelda once held for the ancient technology. She’d been passionate about her research, then was hunted like an animal when the Calamity corrupted them. Now, she too was forced to see all that remained of them—empty husks that lacked a comforting presence. If she was thinking about it, she didn’t say a word. 

“It could probably be rebuilt,” Link said, though he didn’t know what exactly he was saying. All he knew was that the silence between them was deafening, and she wasn’t trying to fill it. He knew from memory how talkative she once could be, and he was worried she might’ve been lost in her head. “The rubble could be mined out and most of the furniture could be replaced.”

“Yes,” Zelda spoke, tilting her head. “It seems most of the structure still stands. This used to be the main entrance that led into the Great Hall.”

But she gestured to little more than crumbled rock. He could make out a faint golden frame if he looked closely at the gaps, and perhaps even a bit of what was once grand doors, but it was more wall than entrance now.

“Part of the library crumbled in,” Link said when she continued up the path. “We could get in there. It wouldn’t take any climbing.”

Zelda nodded to show she’d heard him, but he didn’t know how many of his words actually reached her. Her gaze seemed far away, and he was hesitant to speak again. Wherever her mind was taking her, he didn’t know how to pull her back out of it. All he could do was hope that it was some place of peace.

The library remained just as he left it--mostly crumbing, lit only by the orange rays filtering through the glass windows and gaping holes. Ideally, he’d use his paraglider to get to the floor. Instead, he stepped forwards and settled his foot onto a piece of the caved in wall. His other foot followed and found a nook in the rubble that offered security until he’d reached the roof.

“Please be careful,” Zelda spoke, shuffling hesitantly after him. Link bit the inside of his cheek, then held his hand out to her. 

“Nothing will happen to you, I promise,” he said. Her eyes fell to his hand and he waited with baited breath for her to take it. When she did, Link gently closed his fingers around her soft skin and pulled her up to join him. Once she was sitting and secure, he grabbed a support beam and swung himself into the library. The roof was still higher up from the second floor than he would’ve liked, but he dropped down onto it anyway.

He’d survived worse than a shockwave running up his leg.

“I’ll catch you,” he called, tilting his head up to look at Zelda. He couldn’t blame her for her hesitance, but he hoped even after a century, she could trust him to protect her.

Then she released her grip and tumbled through the ceiling gap.

Link stepped forwards and caught her rather effortlessly. She was  _ alarmingly _ light and felt smaller than she looked given her height, but he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. When was the last time she’d slept? Eaten? Drank anything? He almost didn’t want to let her go because he felt her trembling, and he was certain it wasn’t from a chill. 

But reluctantly, he lowered her to her feet. She stumbled and he reached out for her, but she steadied herself like she was afraid of showing her exhaustion. He wanted to say something, but his words failed him, and she continued along like nothing was wrong.

“I’m surprised to see this recipe book survived the carnage,” she spoke, brushing her fingers gently along the yellowed pages of the open book. “No water damage or anything. It’s quite the miracle. Of course, many others aren’t as salvageable.”

She turned her gaze to the crumbled shelves beneath the holes with a soft sigh. Link knew it rained often in Hyrule, and without a roof over their heads, the books would soil. Zelda picked it up and closed it softly, tucking the book away into the crook of her elbow. He followed her over the cracks and crumbling marble floors to the room next door, with an arching velvet red ceiling. That’s when she lost her footing again.

“Let’s stop here,” he suggested as he caught her, though it was more of a plea than anything else. “We can’t go much further anyway. We’ll be protected from wind and rain this far in.”

Zelda nodded and lowered herself to the ground. Her skin looked even paler in the low light and there were bags under her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. She simply looked  _ exhausted,  _ and he didn’t know how she hadn’t passed out yet. The first time he faced a blight of the Calamity, he slept for nearly a day. Here she was a century later, after fighting the Calamity itself, and she was still conscious.

He was quick to set up a little fire, trying his best to keep it off of the carpet that was probably far too dry to  _ not _ catch aflame. He pulled a blanket from the Slate and draped it over Zelda’s shoulders, then handed her a glass of water. 

“Here,” he said once he had everything he needed, pressing the Sheikah Slate into her hands. “I think you could use it more than me. And, uh, there’s some books in there I think you’d like.”

Whatever protest she’d formed died quickly with his words, because she hunched over the screen and tapped away like she’d never been apart from it. He didn’t need to turn away from his cooking to recognize the familiar warp sound, along with the blue light that washed over the room.

“You didn’t read my diary, did you?” she asked, a hint of playfulness to her voice. Link looked back at her then and threw on the most innocent expression he could muster.

“I would never.”

She snorted in disbelief and he almost smiled. But any mirth that had been sparkling in her eyes before left without a trace, and she ran her fingers along the spine of a book she’d picked up.

“This is my father’s,” she said once she’d cracked it open. Her fingers moved to trace the writing on the page, writing in a distinct style that could only belong to the late king. 

Link didn’t quite know what to say. He knew he should’ve said  _ something _ , because he knew what it was like to hold a cherished belonging of a lost loved one, but he fell short when it came to comfort. He wanted her to have what he couldn’t, but it was much easier said than done. 

“I thought you might want it,” he explained as he began ladling soup into a pair of bowls. “I found it in his study.”

“Thank you.”

Her voice was quiet and far away, and her eyes remained glued to the book in her lap. She wasn’t reading though. He nodded even if she couldn’t see him, then held out a bowl to her.

“Here. I know you haven’t eaten in a while so.. take it slow, okay?”

She looked up at last and took the bowl with both hands. The tips of her fingers felt like ice and he almost suggested she move closer to the fire.

“I’m happy to see your love for cooking hasn’t changed,” she said, setting the bowl before her on the floor. Had he cooked for her before? Well, it wouldn’t be so surprising if he had.

“Doesn’t guarantee I’m any good at it,” he replied as he took a seat besides her, leaving more than enough room between them. And it was true. His first few weeks in the wild were spent eating baked apples, any fruit he could get his hands on, and whatever poorly cooked meat he could scavenge from a monster encampment. When he got his hands on a cooking pot, he spent nearly a day throwing together whatever combinations he could think of. Some worked, some didn’t, and it was possible his sense of taste had been warped because of it.

But Zelda shook her head with the ghost of a smile and raised the spoon to her lips. Link just watched her for a moment, awaiting her judgement for reasons he couldn’t place.

“Give yourself more credit, Link,” she spoke, turning her green eyes on him again. “It’s good.”

“Well,” he replied with an awkward shrug. “Anything is good when you’re starving. I thought baked apples were a delicacy.”

“I never liked baked apples.”

“I wouldn’t call them a favorite.”

The ghost of a smile had returned. Something was missing from it, but Zelda didn’t speak again, so Link decided to fall back into silence and let her eat in peace.

It didn’t feel real. It felt more like he was living in another memory, and he would open his eyes and find that the nightmare wasn’t over. Calamity Ganon was threatening the world around them, and Zelda was still suppressing him from within the castle—within the  _ beast. _ There was no way she was sitting with him, lit by the glow of an orange fire, eating soup that he’d made for her. Things didn’t work out like that. 

The Champions had looked just as solid as her, save for the faint blue glow that accompanied them. How did he know that her glow, golden as the rays of the sun, did not mean something similar?

Zelda did not eat another bowl. Her exhaustion won out before she could utter another word, and Link bundled up the softest armor he owned so that she could use it for a pillow.

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, reassuring himself that she  _ was _ solid, she  _ was _ here, and the nightmare  _ was _ over. 

And his own exhaustion, hours of adrenaline he’d been running on from facing a grotesque beast and a struggle with his own mind, finally caught up to him. 

He didn’t even need a pillow.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link took care of Zelda while she rested, but now she's awake and they still aren't quite sure what to do next, or how to coexist in the way they used to. Zelda learns a few new things about Hyrule, and some familiar things about her knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't tag for warnings unless I know something in my work absolutely needs to be tagged (simply because I never really know what to tag), so, as always, read with caution.

Zelda slept for three days. There were times Link would shake her awake to get some food and water inside of her, but she would collapse back onto her makeshift bed as soon as it was over with. He didn’t leave her side, not even for a moment, but he was sure she wouldn’t remember any of it. Not that there was much to remember, because she wasn’t talkative outside of sleepy protests to waking up, and he didn’t speak unless he had to. He spent his time fiddling with the Sheikah Slate and keeping an eye on her, making food and walking the very small perimeter of the room they were in. He tried summoning Mipha’s Grace, an excellent substitute for a doctor, but he had yet to figure out _if_ he could heal another person, much less how to do so. He also lacked knowledge in what injuries or ill health Zelda might’ve sustained, so he had to settle for cooking up elixirs of his own or using fairies he’d kept in a jar whenever he thought her breathing was too slow or her skin was too pale. 

She woke a lot sooner than he thought she would. A century of fighting should’ve led to more than just three days, but she woke with a strangled gasp that told him she probably wouldn’t try to get any more than that.

“Zelda,” he spoke, because he’d grown used to knowing her by name and did not think before trying to comfort. He crouched by her side, but left enough room in hopes of not startling her any further. “You’re okay.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wild and glittering with unshed tears, and she let out a shuddering breath.

“Link,” she replied and reached a hand out towards him. He didn’t stop her, so her fingers closed around his wrist, feeling the warmest they’d been so far. She searched his face, then surveyed the room, and once she’d reached whatever conclusion she’d been looking for, she sat back and released him. “It’s really over, then.”

He wished he knew the words to soothe her, but he didn’t know the first step to soothing  _ himself _ , much less a traumatized princess. Every step of his journey, everything he’d done from the moment he woke up to her voice, had been for her. He swore he would stop at nothing to rescue her. Yet now that he had, he was at a loss. He never once thought he’d actually be able to do it. 

“Yeah,” he offered pathetically, nodding his head. “Yeah, it is. We did it.”

“We did,” she agreed, but there was no smile or bubbly laughter of disbelief that he would have dreamed about. She only sounded solemn. “But at what cost?”

Again, there was very little he could say to console her. Urbosa told him to relay that Zelda needn’t blame herself for the tragedies that transpired, but he wouldn’t dare bring the Champions up if she did not wish to think about them yet—if she did not  _ want _ comfort. 

“I don’t know,” Link replied at last, but the stretch of silence continued as if he hadn’t breathed a word at all.

He wished he could call his lack of memory an advantage. In a way, it was. Adapting to the world around him when he had no idea what he knew it to be before— _ that _ was an advantage. Zelda did not have that naivety. On the other hand, he felt it was such a disservice, a  _ disrespect _ , that he could not remember the Champions, or all that came with Zelda. He had memories of her, but what use were they when they gave him no clue of what to do?

“I must’ve slept for a while,” she said, just above a whisper. She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze fixed on the red carpet she tore at with her fingers, and he couldn’t read her expression. “Why did you stay?”

He thought the answer to that was rather simple. Why  _ wouldn’t _ he? It was for Hyrule, for his old friends and new ones, but ultimately, his drive had been her. He couldn’t turn his back on her now, leave her behind. But “ _ couldn’t”  _ made her sound like an obligation, and she was anything but.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he replied softly. 

“You could have.”

“Would you have been okay if I did?”

“No.” 

Zelda met his gaze at last, her eyes still solemn and dull. It didn’t fit her, he thought, but it wasn’t the first time he’d seen them coloring an expression they were too lively for. He wanted to reach out to her, to hug her close and assure her that he didn’t  _ want _ to leave her side. Instead, he held out a bottle of water and she took it without a word.

“We can’t stay here forever,” he said as he threw together a small meal for her—nothing bigger than some meat, rice, and Hylian Shrooms. 

“It housed me for little over a century,” Zelda answered, but there was nothing in her voice that indicated humor. Link didn’t know what to say to that, but she spoke again, “where would you go?”

“Kakariko,” he replied with a shrug. “Impa would know what to d-“

“No.” Zelda set the plate down and turned her entire body to face him. Her gaze was intense and his entire body was commanding him to look away. “I mean, where would you go  _ now _ , with Calamity Ganon sealed? You could go anywhere you wanted, outside of Hyrule if you so wished. Where would you go?”

Link furrowed his eyebrows and averted his gaze at last so that he could ponder her question. He’d traversed all of Hyrule already, or so he thought, but the idea that there was more to see, there was  _ always _ more to see, was overwhelming. Hyrule was by no means a small kingdom. But visiting friends again, now that there were no urgent matters to deal with, sounded rather nice.

“Home,” he replied instead, tugging at the bottom of his gloves. “At least, for a little while.”

“A house in Hateno,” she spoke, tilting her head. It served as a reminder to him that when she’d kept watch over him, she’d seen everything. “Very quaint. Peaceful.”

“What about you?”

It was a bit of a stupid question. She didn’t have a home anymore, not truly. Her bedroom was in ruins, her castle was only just beginning to recover from infestation, much less all the other damage, and she had no family left to turn to. He wanted to offer his home to her, but what would she think of that?

“I haven’t thought much about it,” she answered and switched her gaze to look around the barren room--barren aside from rubble and rusted suits of armor. He wasn’t quite sure he believed her. “I’d like to restore my kingdom, rebuild what was lost, but I imagine it will be quite difficult to accomplish.”

“Maybe not,” he said, picking up the forgotten Slate and swiping through his logs. “I know a kingdom is bigger than a town, but Tarrey Town was built in a pretty short timeframe.”

He handed the Slate to her and watched as she scrolled through what he’d entered under the pictures of the small, lively town.

“Right,” she murmured, more so to herself than him. “I nearly forgot about this. Do you think the company would be interested in helping?”

Her voice was as still as ever, but there was a little glimmer of hope in her eyes that he didn’t want to dull. 

“If we can find enough workers with names ending in ‘son’, then yeah,”

“What?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

“Bolson’s Construction Company,” he explained with a shrug. “Terms and conditions require it.”

“You cannot be serious.”

Link pointed to the Slate, fighting to keep a straight face.

“I’m completely serious. Rhondson and Hudson—their marriage vows included a promise to name their children according to the company’s guidelines.”

Zelda’s snort was quiet and incredibly short lived, but it brightened the room and made him feel a little more at ease.

“They’ll be more than happy to help, I’m sure of it,” Link added.

“I’ll admit their style is a little.. _unorthodox_ ,” Zelda spoke, tapping through the pictures once more. “But it  _ could _ work. Perhaps we could produce and include some new Sheikah technology as well. If there can be an enormous observatory in the middle of this castle, there’s a possibility we could uncover hundreds of other ancient places. And while there’s no promise on the conditions of any of it, there’s a chance we could find blueprints.”

Just like that, the girl before him reverted to the ever curious, scholarly princess with a knack for research and devotion to her kingdom. A spark of something  _ familiar _ finally hit the air, and opposite of what he expected, it struck a peculiar balance between the old and the new.

“Then I guess we should make our way to Kakariko,” he replied. 

But Zelda paused and looked in his direction as if she hadn’t heard him quite right. 

“We?” she repeated softly. Link almost frowned. Did she think he wouldn’t want to help anymore? Or did she perhaps not  _ want _ his help? If that was the case, then he didn’t quite know what to say. “Ever the soul of a hero, it would seem.”

Because he wanted to help her? Or because that was who he was supposed to be— _ used _ to be?

“I _want_ to help,” he told her, but whatever comforting gesture he’d wanted to do fell through and he shrugged pathetically instead. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Do not stretch yourself so thin that you never help yourself,” she replied gently and handed the Slate back to him. “But you’re right, of course. We should start for Kakariko. We’ll never make it before sundown, but perhaps we could reach a stable.”

“Zelda.”

“Yes?”

“We can fast travel.” A realization that would have been helpful three nights ago. He tapped the Slate twice. “The shrines act as a travel point and through the Slate, we can just.. go to any of them. Not entirely sure how it works, but I guess it’s the same mechanic as storing physical items in the Slate.”

“Right,” she replied, leaning back with a nod. “I knew that. Um, shall we then?”

“Well, uh, we’ll have to get outside first, and I’m not really sure how well this is going to work, but..”

Zelda folded the blanket and makeshift pillow with nimble hands, and Link stuffed both of them into the Slate. Their little camp was disassembled far quicker than he’d expected and part of him wondered if she was _desperate_ to get out of the crumbling remains of her home.

Before they left, Link pulled a small glass bottle from the Slate. The red liquid inside swished around with the movement when he held it out to her. She took it with furrowed eyebrows.

“A hearty elixir?” she asked, looking back at him with a tilted head.

“I don’t know how much strength you have,” he replied as he scratched the back of his head. “And this way of travel is, um… it can take a lot out of you the first time.”

Zelda nodded and without argument or even so much as another word, she downed the liquid and handed back the bottle, which he put into the Slate before pulling up the map. Admittedly, he didn’t know how this would work. He didn’t even know _ if _ two people could be transported through the Slate at one time, but he tapped the travel gate that would allow them to leave the castle interior. Zelda’s touch of his hand was so soft that for a moment he thought he’d imagined it.

“Is this okay?” she asked. “I just-- perhaps for it to transport us both, there has to be contact between us-”

“Yeah,” Link replied, taking proper hold of her hand before she might try to back out. “Maybe.”

A familiar weightlessness wrapped around him, a feeling that could only be described as being dissolved without the pain he’d imagined would come with it, and before he knew it, his feet made contact with the solid ground. He had to squint against the sunlight--it was the brightest he’d ever seen it, and a warm breeze ruffled through their hair like it wanted to hug them. Zelda turned to look back up at the castle, and he wasn’t sure if the shimmer of blue he saw had been real or not.

But just before they warped again, he could’ve sworn he heard a voice calling out a  _ “don’t screw this up _ ”, and he almost smiled.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duo arrive in Kakariko. Zelda reflects on very few of her emotions and tries to enjoy the visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: grieving, implied burn mentions, bottling emotions

It was hard to describe how it felt to see him again. The last time she’d been close enough to touch him, to study the different shades of blue in his eyes, he was dying in her arms. Yet he stood besides her now like nothing had ever happened. He both was and was not the knight attendant she’d grown so close to, and she couldn’t tell if he was trying to be that boy again for her sake, or for his own. She did not want him to be that boy again. A person could never be set in stone. They were malleable like clay, forever being shaped by the world around them. It was what she found most beautiful about people; he would never be able to fit the mold he’d left behind anyway. And that was okay, no matter how much her heart cried out for that fossilized memory.

Kakariko Village looked like a moment encased in time from their perch atop the shrine. Hardly anything had changed from when she last visited, yet everything was somehow different. Faces were both older and newer, the high pitched voices of the children running past weren’t quite what they used to be, and the beautiful farming lands held descendants of the crops she’d once known. As they made their way down the path, Zelda knew this visit with Link, with  _ Impa _ , would be different.  _ Difficult _ . 

And she wasn’t naïve enough to expect the reunion to be as happy as she once hoped. 

The two Sheikah stood on either side of the stairway nodded towards them in greeting, and the only thing she could really do in return was tilt the corners of her mouth up ever so slightly.

Very little had changed about the elder’s house, other than the fact that Impa was the one inhabiting it. Well, that and the girl on the porch who almost dropped her cup when they approached. For a moment, Zelda’s heart leapt in recognition. But logic quickly followed suit and told her that the reason this girl looked so much like Impa was because they were related. This must’ve been her granddaughter. 

“Link!” the girl greeted in a stutter, and Zelda tried not to shrink under her red eyes when her gaze shifted. “Oh,  _ goddesses… _ is it really..?”

“The princess,” Link confirmed for her. “Paya, this is Zelda. Zelda, Paya.”

She tried her best smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” she offered, but Paya had already stumbled into an awkward bow and Zelda quickly reached out, hovering her hands just above the Sheikah’s shoulders. “Please, you don’t have to bow. I’m really not— I mean, there has to be a kingdom for there to be a princess.”

Paya straightened up, but she looked uncertain and shook her head.

“You’ve done so much for us. Both of you. I- Princess, you…” But she couldn’t seem to find the words she’d wanted to say. “My grandmother would love to see you.”

She pulled the door open, and Zelda found that much of the interior looked the same. It was doused in a warm light, and the bottom floor was mostly empty. A place for meetings, formal and opposite alike. The only thing she didn’t remember was the stack of pillows. 

“Zelda.”

Impa’s voice was riddled with age, but it filled her with a flood of emotion nonetheless. The little old woman who’d once been her best friend nodded in greeting, then held a hand out to her. It took every drop of self control to keep from breaking as she took it, then dropped to her knees to see her eye to eye. 

“You survived,” she managed, her voice thick, but of course, she’d known that for a very long time. 

“I believe I had business to complete,” Impa replied. And though some of her teeth were missing, her smile was as comforting as it had ever been. 

“Thank you,” Zelda spoke and held her fragile hand a little tighter. “Thank you, Impa.”

“You know,” Impa said, placing her other hand against Zelda’s cheek. “My sister spent years working on an age reversal rune. She should ask you for tips.”

For the first time in over a century, she laughed, a real laugh, and it felt  _ good _ . It was weak and hoarse, but it was bubbly disbelief and amusement. 

“The secret is a state of stasis for a few hundred years,” she replied, wiping at her eyes. “I would not recommend it.”

“Thank you,” Impa spoke, but she wasn’t looking at Zelda. She was looking past her, to Link, and she had tears of her own welling in her eyes. “And welcome home, Princess.”

Impa would not hear another word of conversation until she and Link were clean, fed, and rested. Zelda found she couldn’t argue, because the layers of malice-tinted grime that covered her skin couldn’t possibly be healthy, and her hair felt so oily that she couldn’t even begin to imagine the damage in it, and her muscles were sore from every bit of movement, and she simply felt  _ drained _ . Looking in the mirror did little to alleviate her emotional state. Her skin was pale, sunken around her eyes and discolored by the lack of sleep, and she was dirty. Her hair was matted to her head and knotted probably beyond saving, but she didn’t particularly _want_ to save it. 

“Are you sure..?” Paya asked, gripping the scissors a little tighter. 

“Yes,” she replied. “There’s really no saving it. Malice is quite destructive.”

“Maybe we could find a solution that could get it out.”

“I appreciate it, but there’s no need to worry. It’ll be far healthier for my hair if I just cut it.”

“I’ll do my best, Princess.” 

Zelda offered Paya a gentle smile, then settled back in the chair so she could get to work. Once upon a time, she would’ve shrunk at the idea of cutting her hair short. But now, the snipping of the scissors was a melody and her hair became lighter by the second. 

“Your village is beautiful,” she spoke to fill the silence. “I’m pleased it survived.”

“We owe that all to you. Grandmother told me what you did. She always speaks so highly of you.”

“Impa is-” Zelda faltered for a moment, furrowing her eyebrows as she debated what wording would be most appropriate, “- _ was _ a close friend of mine. She was there until the end.”

“She told me it was horrible. She never talked about it and I didn’t ask questions until.. well, until Link showed up.”

She hummed and tilted her head.

“Link’s courage has always been admirable. It rubs off on us all. I suppose it would be near impossible to hear them speak and not ask questions.” 

“Reliving it must be difficult. I didn’t want to ask that of her.”

“I’m certain she appreciates it.”

Though it wouldn’t quite matter, because it wasn’t as if they could simply  _ forget _ the massacre of her people, the slaughter of their friends, the utter destruction and despair the Calamity brought upon their home. Just because they weren’t speaking of it, it did not mean they weren’t thinking about it, replaying it every time they closed their eyes. 

“It’s.. a little shorter than I wanted to go.”

Zelda turned to face the mirror. Her hair barely reached her chin, but she hadn’t expected much length to survive the carnage. Once upon a time, she wasn’t one to care about appearances, simply because she’d never had to worry about it before. Her maidens would make her presentable no matter the condition she was in. Now, it was all she could do to hope that a wash could salvage what remained.

“It’s perfect,” she assured, standing from the chair and brushing herself off. “Thank you, Paya.”

Paya left after a bow, and Zelda got to work peeling the soiled prayer dress from her body. It was bigger than when she last wore it, but the true miracle lied in the fact that she hadn’t lost as much weight as she should’ve. Well, truthfully, she should’ve been dead. But should she think about it too much, she’d never come back up. She folded the once pure white fabric and set it aside, then peeled the rest of her undergarments off.

The warm water of the bath almost coaxed her to sleep, but she scrubbed at her skin until it was raw, until she was sure she’d gotten at least  _ one _ layer of the beast off of her, and scratched at her scalp until her hair was no longer matted. Nothing could quite describe what it had felt to live  _ inside _ of a Calamity for over a century. There was only so much her power could do, and it did not involve stopping the sting of the malice she never quite got used to. 

Had the Champions felt it as well? Did the incarnation of hatred burn their skin as much as it did hers? Or did the touch of evil sting so deeply  _ because _ she was pure? Good? At least, that’s what she was  _ meant _ to be, as a daughter of Hylia and carrier of her blood. She had little way of knowing what truly happened to them, aside from seeing the blights when Link faced them. She knew the Calamity first hand, knew what it was like to be  _ part  _ of it, and she hoped so very desperately that the deaths of the Champions were quick—that they’d avoided the same fate as her, swallowed by a beast and eroded by its hatred. She was not stupid enough to hope their last moments were painless.

Zelda gripped the sides of the tub and tried to steady her breathing. She’d lost  _ so much _ , what was she supposed to do now? All those who once guided her were gone, and those who looked to her for inspiration, for  _ protection _ —she’d let them down too. Nothing could ever have prepared them for the Calamity, for the counter attack of the beast. She  _ knew _ that, and yet she still felt had she woke her powers sooner, it could have been avoided. They were dead, her kingdom was in ruin, she was certain the remaining Hylian population wasn’t aware of her existence.. 

It hurt  _ so much _ .

Her grief went far beyond what she was able to express, but grieving was not a luxury she had the time to partake in, not even when she was alone with all the time in the world. Just as she’d done with her mother's death, Zelda forced a cork back on the bottle and rubbed her face with the lukewarm water. She was here with a  _ purpose _ , after all. The  _ least _ she could do for her people, for the people she’d failed, was to give all she could to the kingdom.

The air made her shudder as soon as she left the water. She was quick to throw the towel around her shoulders, pulling it as tight as she could. Some of her skin was still red and her eyes were puffy, but the caked dirt had been washed away and her hair was clean enough. Damp, but clean enough. She could even force a brush through it, though she had very little energy to style it. 

The Sheikah clothes Paya had left were soft to the touch and incredibly comfortable. More comfortable than her prayer dress, though just as oversized. She didn’t favor going out with damp hair when it got so chilly at dusk, but she figured if there was a way to feel worse than she already did, she’d have found it by now.

Impa already had a small table set out when she returned to the house. Paya was busy setting down dishes and the others were nowhere to be seen, so she approached with hesitation.

“Is there.. anything I can do to help?” she asked.

“Oh, no! No, you can just sit back, Princess,” Paya assured, but Zelda shook her head and fiddled with the bottom of the shirt.

“ _ Please _ . I like to keep busy.” And it wasn’t a lie. She’d always preferred having something to do over sitting with her thoughts. 

“Well, ah.. here.” 

Paya held out a stack of cups to her. Zelda took them with a thankful nod and pulled the first of the stack, setting it besides one of the four plates.

“Is it only us?” she asked.

“We thought it best not to overwhelm you,” Paya replied as she set a basket of rolls on the table. “Keep the party small.”

“Where are the others?” 

“Link is using the cooking pot, so I imagine grandmother is out judging him. Has he always had an affinity for cooking?”

“Yes,” Zelda recalled, tilting her head. “Though I imagine he hadn’t much of a choice. When we traveled, there was no party accompanying us. Either he cooked, or we didn’t eat. I thought to try once, but if we wanted to eat rocks, we would’ve been better off going to Goron City. Still, he was kind enough to not laugh too hard.”

The memory was pleasant, but it chipped away at the hole she felt in her chest. When she was royalty, she was taken care of from the moment she woke to the moment her head hit the pillow again. As much as she tried to be independent, reliant on herself and herself only, it was hard to ignore that she was incapable of basic things. Did he remember that? Did he remember consoling her, assuring her that it wasn’t actually that bad for her first try? Did he remember brushing a bit of ash from her forehead and almost laughing at her? 

“I’m sure he’d be happy to teach you if you wanted to learn,” Paya assured. 

“Ever the helpful,” she agreed and quickly got to work pouring water into the cups, shaking the thoughts from her head. Paya looked as if she wanted to continue the conversation, but Zelda didn’t know how to politely tell her that she would rather not.

At least the goddess granted her this, when the door swung open and Impa shuffled inside, followed by Link, who was holding the cooking pot. He was dressed in his own Sheikah garb, likely a gift given he had so many other clothing options. Zelda forced her eyes onto Impa instead and gave a slight smile.

“Feel better, Princess?” asked the little lady. 

“Much,” she replied. “I do hope you didn’t bully Link too much.”

“Only as much as he deserves.”

She almost smiled. 

“You cut your hair,” Link observed, setting the cooking pot on the table. Inside was a curry rice dish that smelled as wonderful as it looked. She was lucky her stomach hadn’t given her hunger away.

“Yes,” she answered with a shrug. “Much of it was damaged. This was the best chance I had at saving it.”

“I like it.” 

The reply was a little blunt, like it was a fact more than a compliment, but it sent a wave of dizziness over her—or maybe that was the hunger and exhaustion. She tried quickly to brush it aside.

“Paya did a wonderful job. You’ll have to compliment her.”

“Link is right. It suits you. And if you argue, the curry will turn cold before we’ve even had a bite,” Impa interrupted, sitting herself down at the head of the little table.

Zelda followed in suit and picked up her glass, taking a quick swig. It would take some time to get her back to her usual levels of hydration, but she had to hand it to Link. In the last four days, he’d made certain that she drank something.

Had it only been four days?

Instead of dwelling on it, she spooned a little of the food into her plate. It hardly reached half of the dish, but she grabbed a roll too and broke it in half. As much as she wanted to scarf it down, as much as her stomach clawed at itself, she needed to take it slow. Besides, she didn’t have much of an appetite. 

Hunger without an appetite. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“So, what are your plans now, Princess?” Paya asked curiously, probably looking to fill the quiet air.

“They better involve plenty of rest,” interjected Impa, but it sounded far more like a warning.

“Well, yes,” Zelda answered, though it was a partial truth. “That’s why we’re here, actually. I’ve been thinking of ways to restore Hyrule and thought perhaps we could continue our research on the Sheikah technology and ancient civilizations.”

“I thought you said your plans involved rest.”

“I  _ will _ rest,” Zelda assured. “But there’s no excuse for why we can’t start this now. The Sheikah Slate holds maps for the Divine Beasts, right? So perhaps somewhere within the system is blueprints for the technology, any sort of idea for how it works aside from feeding off an ancient energy source. Or we could search for more shrine-like structures that have been buried over time and-“

“Zelda.” Impa’s stern tone made her bite her lip. It was one thing to hear her friend cross with her a century ago. It was another thing entirely to hear her friend, as an old woman, scold her. “You are brilliant as ever, but no goddess blessing will keep you from collapsing of exhaustion.”

She didn’t have the energy to argue. Restless as she remained, she nodded and averted her gaze to her plate.

“You’re right,” she muttered. Impa sighed, then set a hand on Zelda’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“We can discuss this at a later time, I promise.”

“You mentioned the shrines,” Paya spoke up. Zelda lifted her head in time to see her hesitant glance to Impa. “There was an artifact I was studying—a sphere that was the same makeup as the Sheikah technology. It turns out it was a key to revealing a shrine that’s just outside of the village. Maybe when you’re feeling better, we could.. go and check it out.”

“A key..?” Zelda asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“I’m not quite sure how it works. You’d have to ask Link.”

“There was a platform,” Link spoke up, holding his hands up to demonstrate. “Circular, about a meter in diameter with a dip in the center. Putting the sphere in it made the shrine rise out of the ground.”

“That would imply that the shrine was never _buried_. Well, not naturally at least. It was designed to be exclusively revealed after a puzzle had been solved,” Zelda replied, then took a bite of the remainder of her roll as she thought. 

“More than one shrine was set up that way, in all different regions.”

“Interesting.” It proved her hypothesis regarding the possibility of other structures hidden deep beneath Hyrule’s surface, but she didn’t voice it aloud for fear that Impa would scold her again. “In any case, I would love to visit one.”

She turned to look at Link, partially out of habit and partially because he was the only key to getting in the shrine. Of course, he wasn’t obligated to help her any more than he already had.

“We can go whenever,” he replied, and then realized the gravity of his mistake because he quickly added, “Whenever you’re rested enough.”

Zelda stuffed the last bite of her roll in her mouth and nodded once, but her mind had already started to wander. Research was familiar, but would it be as  _ comforting _ as it once was? The technology that had been such a feat, so very  _ advanced _ , turned out to be weak to the influence of the Calamity. Something once thought of as indestructible… Sure, they could try to improve the technology with what little information they had, but would it do any good? It would advance their way of life, but at what cost? And, really, for how long? Until the beast rose again, because it  _ would _ , it always would. 

Suddenly, the thought of restoring Hyrule wasn’t as promising as it’d been before.


End file.
